


White Swan Finds Love

by makingitwork



Series: Bughead Prompts [52]
Category: Riverdale (TV 2017)
Genre: Agent Jughead, BAMF Betty, F/M, Fluff, Friendship, Getting Together, Happy Ending, Jealous Jughead, Jellybean, Oblivious Betty, Oblivious Jughead, Pining, Protectiveness, Security guard Jughead, White House, White House AU, bamf jughead, bughead - Freeform, idealist betty, jughead jones carries a weapon, jughead stops it before it gets too explicit though, just a warning, pining Jughead, pining betty, politician betty, possessive jughead, president betty, protective jughead, there is a bit where the russian premier tries to make a pass at betty, vice president betty
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-11-06
Updated: 2018-11-06
Packaged: 2019-08-19 23:03:25
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 11,679
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16544006
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/makingitwork/pseuds/makingitwork
Summary: Vice President Cooper gets a new bodyguard.





	White Swan Finds Love

**Author's Note:**

> I hope you enjoy!

Betty's typing out a very angry text-message to Congress Woman Lodge when she realises that the soft  _taptap_ she's hearing is not an echo of her own heels. It is in fact, another set of shoes walking a little way off behind her. 

She pauses experimentally and the footsteps stop too. She walks forward a few paces, and the sound follows. She stops again, suddenly, and faultlessly, the footsteps stop too. She frowns at her phone, before looking up. The street before her is bare, the roads are empty, and the silhouette of Washington is little more than a glittery shadow ahead of her. It's a dusky evening after an eventless day, and no one is around. She frowns, typing an annoyed message to her old body guard and friend, Archie Andrews. 

**Did you hire a new bodyguard when I explicitly told you not to?** She asks, before sliding her phone into the pocket of her winter coat and turning around. 

It's what she expected. A little way off, a tall, slender man in a grey-slate suit and a badge on his lapel is standing to attention. She grits her teeth in irritation, before marching up to him. He doesn't react; just stands stiff as a board with his hands clasped in front of him. Oh, he's definitely her new bodyguard. As she gets closer and closer, she's startled to realise that he's actually...he's actually very attractive. And not in the way that most of bodyguards are because they're real specimens of perfect physical human fitness and neat hair, he's attractive in a different way. With sharp features and clever green eyes. His hair is thicker than she's used too; a deep black-blue and slicked back out of his eyes. The hair is so confusing that she briefly wonders whether he  _is_ actually a bodyguard and not an assassin. 

But no, that is a gun in his holster- standard issue, too, and his chin is lifted in a way that definitely suggests ex-military. 

She resists the urge to smooth down her hair or rearrange her coat for two reasons. One, she is not about to try flirting with an attractive bodyguard, and two, she knows that she looks good. She always does after a hard day at work. Her coat is figure hugging and stunning, her heels make her alabaster legs look much longer, and her hair is crimped in perfect blonde curls down to her shoulders. "What's your name?" She demands when she's close enough, crossing her arms over her chest. 

He looks completely professional, but her skin still prickles at his low baritone. "Agent Jones, Madame Vice President." He introduces politely. 

She wonders how his lips would feel against her neck. Betty bristles at her own ludicrousness and shakes her head. "I'm not calling you that." 

Something flashes across his face, so quick she's not sure she saw it, something like amusement. He acquiesces accordingly. "Jughead then, Madame Vice President." 

She winces, shaking her head. "And don't call me that. It's Betty, or Ma'am if you must. And  _Jughead?"_ She tests the name, but finds it more appealing than 'Agent Jones'. He doesn't say anything else, so she sighs. "Did Archie put you up to this?"

There's not a hint of shame in his voice. "Yes, Ma'am." Not Betty, then. 

She scowls. "So he manages to keep his promise to me for two weeks? I only get two weeks of privacy before some other bloodhound has come to act as my shadow?" Something definitely flits across his face then, definitely amusement. His lips quirk to a small uptick, a wry little smile, before he schools his features back to stoicism. Not fast enough though, and Betty peers at him. "What?" She demands. 

The great thing about bodyguards is they do what you tell them to, for the most part. So she doesn't have to force him to tell her, he offers the information easily enough, trained to follow orders. "I've been on your detail for the past two weeks, Ma'am." He informs her, not quite keeping the glee out of his voice. 

Betty falters. Oh. Well. She's a lot more unobservant than she realised. It makes sense though, there was no way Archie would realistically let her live without a bodyguard. She sighs, instead of getting angry, because what can she do? Her cheeks feel a little flushed red from the embarrassment of it all. Jughead, to his credit, doesn't look like he's mocking her. He looks proud, as if he's done a job well done in protecting her without getting in her way. She supposes that is true. "Well then, Jughead...I'm heading home now." 

He nods. "Will you allow me to drive you, Ma'am? Now that you know I exist. I'm parked right around the corner." 

Her feet  _do_ hurt, and she would like to get home. So she nods. She wants him to lead the way but it would go against protocol so he walks beside her; if a little bit behind, and steers her in the necessary directions. There's no one around which just proves her point to how much she doesn't need a bodyguard, nor has their ever been an attempt to hurt her, but instead she finishes her text to Veronica and ignores Archie's response. 

**I just wanted to make sure you were safe.**

When they reach where he's parked, the classic black SUV gleams in the evening light, and he unlocks it with the press of a button, before opening the back door for her. Betty sighs. "Can't I sit up front? I won't feel so much like a passenger." But it's a familiar argument. 

"Protocol, Ma'am," he replies, but his tone is apologetic, so she gets in without complaint. The car smells new. The leather is crisp underneath her and she sets aside her bag and buckles in. Jughead slides into the drivers seat and pulls out into the road. She's not surprised when he takes the lesser known, but faster route to her house. He probably already knows everything about her. Archie had known  _everything_ and it had freaked Betty out. There are folders on her, apparently. Folders that they give the security agents to make sure she's okay. They contain, she thinks, the routes she likes to jog, how many hours she works out, her favourite place to get coffee, her favourite take out place and where she buys discount cat food. They'd known her dress size and her shoe size and her favourite lipstick. She gets a little lost at how strangers know details that her ex-boyfriend wasn't even privy to, as the scenery whirls past the window. "It's in case of a shooting." Jughead's voice drags her out of her reverie. 

She frowns in confusion. "Huh?"

He clears his throat; hands in the perfect ten and two position and his eyes fixed firmly on the road. "You have to sit in the back because if there are shots fired at the car, there's more space for me to get back there and cover you. Limited mobility in the front."

"Oh," she nods. That seems practical. "I've never been shot at before, though," she points out, "which is why I think the whole thing's a bit ridiculous." 

To her surprise, Jughead doesn't quote protocol at her. Instead, he tips his head considering, though he doesn't look back at her. "I can understand that. You're certainly lower risk, but that doesn't mean there are no risks. It's better to be safe than sorry." 

Betty scoffs. "Having security around me all the time makes the public think it's  _normal_ that political figures fear for their lives. I don't like that." 

"You don't have security around you all the time, not anymore." Jughead informs her politely, as they turn onto her road. "I'm your only personal detail now, Ma'am. Unless your status changes, it's just going to be me escorting you and protecting your home. Of course, for public events and speeches, you have professional details, a team led by me. Very discreet individuals who won't get in your way. I thoroughly vet everyone. I was told by Archie that this was all sent to you in an email." 

She blinks at the influx of information, and softens towards Archie slightly. He's compromised for her, which is something. She has loved the freedom of not constantly being surrounded by hulking men in black sunglasses. But this also means that Archie must really trust Jughead in a way that Betty hadn't seen before. Plus, Jughead had called him  _Archie_ and not Agent Andrews. There must be a connection there, Archie wouldn't have entrusted her to just anyone. And now that she thinks about it, there probably was an email that she ignored. She brings it up on her phone and starts scanning through it distractedly. "Did you know Archie well?" She asks, trying to discreetly fish for information. She'd like to know him a little better, if he's going to be her detail from now on. 

Unfortunately, Jughead went to that special school with all the other Agents in how to avoid revealing personal information. "We served together for a brief time, Ma'am." He says, voice noncommittal, eyes still on the road.

"In the military?" She guesses, prodding.

He shakes his head, pulling into her drive. "I served in the Navy, Ma'am. Archie was stationed there for a short while and we were paired for a number of training exercises. He's a good man." He offers succinctly as he parks and pulls the handbrake up. 

Betty nods, watching as Jughead moves around the car to pull the door open for her. He doesn't watch her as she swings her legs out, but she watches him. HIs gaze is hard and even, and levelled across the street. His eyes move slightly from left to right, and she realises he's scanning the environment for threats. She's lived here for ten years now, in her town house in the more expensive part of the estate, and there's never been so much as a bee sting aimed in her direction. And yet, for some reason, she feels safer. "He is," she agrees, watching as Jughead closes the door and locks the car. He walks with her as far as the front steps, before stopping at the base of them, turning his back to the door, and staring out. She ascends a few steps before realising he's not following her, and she frowns. "Are you going to stand there all night?" She asks incredulously. 

Jughead doesn't turn to look up at her, but he does move his head to the right so she can see his profile. "I'm on duty, Ma'am, yes. Is there something you need?" 

"Duty till when?" She asks, baffled. 

"As I said before, Ma'am, I'm your only personal detail. I'm on duty all the time." 

She blinks. "But when are you going to sleep? To eat?" 

He speaks like he's reciting from a text book. "My rest hours, during which I am still technically on duty, but not as active as usual, are between 10:30am and 4:30pm when you are at your lowest-risk." 

That makes...some sense. During those hours she'll be at work, with the professional detail. But that's still only six hours off-duty and not even really off-duty. Six-hours to rest and shower. "Will you manage?" She asks worriedly, reluctantly impressed by his commitment to a stranger. Archie and her had reached a good equilibrium after so many years together. They'd become friends. He would stand watch  _inside_ and even have dinner with her from time to time. She doesn't think Jughead will say yes to that. At least not yet. He's too stoic. And Archie wasn't her only personal detail, either. She'd had quite a few, and sometimes she wouldn't see Archie for a few days at a time. This is...different. 

He turns his head back to look out at the street; a sharply cut silhouette in his suit. "I have for the past two weeks, Ma'am." He doesn't sound defensive, just matter-of-fact. 

She nods, pushing the key into the keyhole and sighing. "Well, goodnight then, Jughead." 

"Good night, Ma'am." 

* * *

 

When Betty comes downstairs in the morning, she's dressed and ready for another day of fighting with the President on the Education Bill. 

She eats a bagel covered with slices of banana and basks in her herbal tea. She feels good. She's slept better than she has in a while, and she glances at herself in the hallway mirror. The navy blue dress cuts across her collarbones modestly but without taking away any femininity, and her blue shoes match perfectly. Her hair is in her preferred ponytail, as there should be no public events today, and as she tugs open the front door, she's suddenly reminded of everything that happened yesterday. 

Jughead is standing just where she left him like a statue, except his arm is out and blocking Toni's path. 

Toni is angry, that much is clear, and her pink hair is fraying with her nerves. She's in the middle of ranting when she brightens considerably once she sees Betty. "Betty! Thank god, can you tell this trained mutt to lighten up? He wouldn't let me in!" 

If Jughead is insulted, he doesn't show it at all. He turns to look up at Betty, and she's a little struck by how...fine, he looks. He doesn't look like a man who's been standing on duty all night in the cold. But he clearly has been. His suit is the same, and a few thin strands of his hair have unfurled from there slicked back wave. He also doesn't seem like the type of guard to abandon his post for anything. He nods at her in greeting. "Ma'am. It's against protocol to allow someone in without your consent." His voice is level and even, and she suspects if there was any arguing earlier, Toni was the one doing all the yelling. 

Betty sighs in exasperation, walking down the steps to join them. Her handbag is nestled into the crook of her elbow and contains a lot of the pans and agendas for today. "Toni's always got my consent." She says, and Jughead shakes his head like that isn't enough. He's probably right. People get into fights and old friends, now enemies, would probably use prior connections to gain unlawful actions. Not anyone Betty knows, but she's sure it happens in the political world. 

"I'm afraid not, Ma'am. I'd need your express consent prior to entry." 

"Then why didn't you call her?" Toni snaps angrily, and Betty places a soothing hand on her arm, but looks at Jughead questioningly. Would he have a reason, or an agenda, to keep Toni from her? Toni's technically her PA, but she's a lot more than that. She's got her eyes and ears the to the ground, she's Betty's connection to reality and one of her dearest friends. Completely uncorrupted by Washington, and even though a few people give her looks- and Betty by extension- for her vibrant hair and smoky eyeshadow, Betty thinks she adds a dash of colour to the dreary White House and she certainly has a way with people when it comes to voting. 

Jughead doesn't look caught out; he simply looks at Betty with a very professional expression. "You did not give me permission to contact you, Ma'am," he points out. "It was detailed in the email-"

Betty shoves her phone at him, but of course, his reflexes are impeccable and he takes it without any fuss. "Is this consent?" He asks innocently, and Betty massages her temples. 

"Yes, it's consent. Can we go now?" 

Jughead nods, and takes his own phone out. It's an iPhone too, but standard issue and black with a sleek, government stamped case. He sends himself a text message from Betty's phone, and hands it back to her, before turning to the car. Toni's carrying a big ring binder of paper, and she breathes a sigh of relief once Jughead steps away. "Thank god. I thought Archie said you could live without the Men in Black following you every minute?" She starts walking towards the front gate, and Betty pauses. 

She looks from her bodyguard to her friend and then back again. "Oh, Toni- Jughead will probably want to drive us." 

Toni frowns, shaking her head. "We walk."

Betty turns to Jughead, who's standing expectantly by the car and doing a very good job of pretending he isn't listening. "Jughead," she says, "can we walk?" She knows logically that she doesn't have to ask him permission, and yet it feels rude not to. 

Obediently, he turns away from the car and begins escorting them to the front gate. "Whichever you prefer, Ma'am," he says, his voice purposely clear of an opinion either way. But Betty has a feeling she knows that he'd rather drive. But she refuses to feel bad about it. Instead, she talks to Toni about everything that her PA has learnt about the bill. Jughead walks behind them- always the same distance away. Washington is bustling in the morning, and quite a few people recognise her, but it's mostly other electorates and professionals. There aren't many citizens to bombard her with questions and accuse her of secretly agreeing with the President behind closed doors. Or in fact, arguing with him. 

Amidst the crowd, she feels like she has some more privacy, and evidently Toni does too. Her dark-skinned friend rolls her eyes. "Can you believe it, Betty? Archie lied!" She says, outraged. Betty isn't surprised. Toni doesn't like the details. They tend to ruin their girls nights out. It's very difficult to let loose and get drunk when there are armed guards lurking in the shadows of nightclubs looking very much like they'd rather if you were locked in a room padded with cushions. 

Betty risks a look at the sky. Grey clouds are rolling in and there's a sense of drizzle in the air. "I know, Toni, but he seems okay. He's been my detail for two weeks apparently, and he hasn't gotten in our way, has he?" 

Toni looks surprised, so Betty feels a bit better about her own lack of awareness. "For two weeks? Has he been...hiding in bushes? Oh my god," she tucks a stray purple lock behind her ear. "Anyway,  _Jughead?"_ She says the name like it's got a weird taste. 

Betty chances a look over her shoulder just in case Jughead can hear, but he's the same distance away as before; slipping between the crowd gracefully, eyes trained on Betty. He nods when she makes eye contact and she hurriedly turns her head forward again. "What?" She demands, face flushed, "he's nice. Doesn't boss me about like some of the others. He  _asks."_

Her friend nods, a little confused. "Sure, I guess. I just mean: what kind of a name is Jughead? Is it Agent Jughead?" 

"Agent Jones, actually, but I prefer Jughead." 

Toni snorts with amusement. "He's not bad on the eyes though, for a government drone. Must be nice to have some eye candy so close on hand." 

Betty raises her eyebrows skeptically. "You're one to talk. Are the rumours I've heard about a certain red-headed heiress true?" 

Toni cocks her head, shrugging casually. "Maybe. Maybe not. Maybe Cheryl's too much of a prissy repressed lesbian to realise what she wants." 

"Ah," the blonde nods, threading her arm through Toni's in consolidation. "Well then, she's a fool. Now talk to me about the Education stats. How many children still at home now?" 

* * *

 

Betty's right. 

It does rain, and she sits back in her office chair and watches as the fat raindrops pour from the sky. Almost on cue, the masses outside put up identical black umbrellas; a sea of ink, and she wonders whether umbrellas have become standard issue in this city too. Her head hurts from another argument with the President, and the worst part is, they still haven't reached a conclusion. Maybe she should be thankful he hasn't just overruled her, that he is  _trying_ to listen, though he doesn't agree. The other part of her just wishes it was over. 

It's about one-thirty, and she picks at the salad that Toni had brought her for lunch. She can't really taste it, she can just hear the rain and the flurry of footsteps on carpet from the hall outside. 

Her phone rings and she picks it up; eager for a distraction. "Yeah?" She asks, twirling in her seat. 

_"Betty, I have Dilton on the line, should I connect?"_ Ethel asks, and Betty frowns, sitting up worriedly. 

"How did he sound, Ethel?" She asks, "nervous?" 

Ethel pauses for a moment.  _"Now that you mention it, he did sound somewhat guilty."_

"Crap," Betty mutters, stabbing a lettuce leaf viciously. Typical. Dilton's spineless. She'd thought she really had his support but it's clear that someone else has gotten to him. She wonders if it was Tom directly or the chief whip. She's not sure which she'd prefer. Well, she's certainly not going to raise her offer and try to entice Dilton with a more glittery deal. She'd thought he was backing her based on morals, not prizes. "Connect him." The line drifts for a second, before she can hear Dilton breathing. She closes her eyes against the onslaught of a second coming headache. "Dilton," she hisses, "you swore you were backing me on this." 

Silence, and then a whingey, apologetic tone:  _"Betty, I tried! But you know what Tom's like and he promised me favour in the party when the time came, so I-"_

"Betrayed me? You don't even agree with this bill! You're working for your own ends! What about the teachers? They deserve higher pay! Your wife is a teacher-"

" _My wife won't have to work if Tom can take me where he promises. I'm sorry, Betty, but I-"_

She snarls bitterly into the receiver. "You've lost an ally in me, Dilton, and you'll regret it." She snaps, slamming the phone down and getting to her feet. She has to talk to Tom about this. As she marches out into the hall, everyone looks up and nods respectfully at her, but her stare is fixed on the empty office opposite her own. Tom isn't there. She turns her eyes onto a scared looking intern. "Where did the President go?" She demands, and the girl trembles with her bag. 

"Um- the bathroom? I don't know!" 

Betty storms down the corridor and towards the bathroom. The White House is emptier down in these parts; the staff have their own toilets downstairs, and she can feel her anger bubbling up to the surface. She bursts into the male toilets, prepared to see Tom splashing water onto his face the way he always does when he's made stupid deals behind her back, but instead, she sees a very shirtless Jughead Jones; holding his shoes under the dryer. 

He's soaking wet; his hair plastered to his scalp, and dripping in long slow lines down his muscled torso and lean arms. He's got smooth, olive skin, and a set of very defined abdominals that slide into his drenched pants. He stares at her, and his eyes widen just a little, but he does not act surprised. That's probably been trained right out of him. His gun and badge are placed neatly by the sink. "Ma'am," he greets; the dryer chugging to a stop and leaving them in an empty silence. The contrast of his level tone and completely ridiculous state of dress is almost laughable. "Was there something you needed?" 

Betty drags her eyes from his chest to his face and her mouth is suddenly very dry. 

Her lack of reaction seems to worry him, as he steps towards her; concerned. "Did something happen, Ma'am?" He asks again, louder this time as if she's in shock. 

She finds her voice, and shakes her head. "No! No, sorry, I was looking for...someone else..." she trails off. The water slides down his neck and over his prominent collarbones. Something hot curls in the pit of her stomach. His eyes are still scrutinising her, so she attempts to deflect. "Were you- outside?" She asks, gesturing to the puddle of water now on the floor. 

He nods, relaxing minutely now that he knows there is no immediate threat. Betty wonders what he would have done if there was. Would he have rushed out of the bathroom; shirtless and shoeless with his gun to protect her? He probably would have. "I returned on my break to retrieve the car in case you decided to ride home this evening." He informs her; his body falling back into position. His hands clasped before him, and his chin up. 

Betty has the strange urge to lick him. "Why didn't you- get a cab?" She manages, stumbling over the words. 

He doesn't break position, but a ripple of goosebumps appear over his shoulders. She's not surprised, it's freezing in here. "It's against protocol, Ma'am, to get into a car driven by a non-secure  stranger. Especially by the VP's head detail." She nods helplessly, her eyes looking everywhere but him. He misinterprets this. "The President gave me permission to use this bathroom to change, Ma'am," he informs her. "I tried to refuse, I know it's not proper-"

"No! No, god no," she hurries to reassure him, if only because she knows from experience how troubled bodyguards can become after displeasing their charge. "It's fine, really. It's...fine. Listen, um, I'm going to find the President, and you...I'll see you tonight." 

He nods as if this was just a simple, professional interaction. "Will you want the car, Ma'am? It looks set to rain all night." 

She can't bear the thought of his act having been for nothing, and she doesn't want to walk in the rain. "Yes, the car sounds good." She turns to leave, before remembering. "Will you...is it possible for you to carry out your duty inside tonight? You could stand just inside the house? By the window?" 

Jughead looks hesitant. "It's not protocol, Ma'am." 

Betty is aware of this. "But how can you protect me if you come down with some awful cold because you stood outside in the rain all night?" She thinks for a second, before using a trick that used to work on Archie all the time. "I really would feel much safer if you were inside the house," she adds, more softly. 

It works like a charm. He nods; sharp and decisive. "If you wish, Ma'am." 

She leaves the bathroom smiling; anger forgotten. 

* * *

 

They continue like that for a few weeks. 

Jughead prefers to serve  _outside_ her house, but as the winter weather starts creeping into effect, he spends more and more nights settled just inside, by the window, staring out. He's the first person she sees in the morning, and he always nods at her. A couple of times, she coaxes him into having breakfast with her, but he always looks so guilty afterwards that he seems to punish himself for days. 

He drives her and Toni to work, and then drives Betty home. He escorts her to a great number of events, and she's heard him briefing the professional detail on how to stand- not too close, but around always, just in case something goes wrong. 

He hasn't opened up much about who he is, but Betty wasn't really expecting him to. But she does like him. He's a part of her background now, like a lovely painting in the hall. She feels more comfortable whenever he's there and looks forward to meeting his eyes. Sometimes, when someone says something especially stupid, she looks for him with a long-suffering gaze and his lips curve up in a little half smile like he agrees with her. It makes her heart do a little strange flippy thing, but that's it. 

It's one on a Wednesday as she and Toni try to strum up numbers for the Education Reform Bill, when Veronica bursts into the office, with a very disgruntled Ethel behind her. "Betty!" Veronica demands, talking over her secretary's apologies, "you need to be on a plane now! Tom cancelled his speech in Chicago, and there's an empty podium. You can do your speech on the bill, build up support! Come on! The plane's ready!" 

Betty gets to her feet and starts making arrangements. Opportunities like this are rare but they also mean the professional detail won't be there. Jughead won't like that. As Toni gathers her speech and Veronica organises the car, Betty rushes to go and get her draft legislation to work on in the plane. 

She may also be looking for Jughead. 

Which is why she bursts into the security staffroom. It's empty, aside from a sleeping Jughead. The sight of him catches her by surprise. She's never seen him look like this- all soft and relaxed. He's spread out along the sofa, looking more gangly than tough, in a blue sweater and pyjama pants. It strikes her then, that  _this_ is where he sleeps. He probably has an apartment somewhere hat he never goes to- that's what Archie's deal had been. He's suddenly all soft lines and innocence, and his hair- god his  _hair._ It's not slicked back. It's all fluffy and curly and wavy, and a thick black lock trails down his forehead and over his eyes. He looks so peaceful that she suddenly changes her mind about waking him up. 

It's only one pm, he's barely had three hours of sleep. It's just, she knows he'll be upset if he ever finds out that she went and did a speech without security, and he obviously will find out. 

Still, she can't bear to wake him. 

As she turns to leave quietly, she obviously has to knock a lamp off the small table, and he sits up with a start; eyes wide and alert. 

His breath hitches when he sees her, and he's scrambling to his feet to get into position. She mourns the loss of the relaxed sleeper she'd just seen. "Ma'am," he nods briskly, "is everything okay?" His voice is deep and sleep-croaked. 

She hurries to explain so he won't leap to the conclusion that she was watching him sleep and waxing sonnets about his hair. "I'm about to get on a plane to Chicago, for a last minute speech. There won't be any security and I'm just letting you know." She says in a rush.

He frowns; eyebrows knitting together with displeasure, before he attempts to school his features into something more neutral. "Ma'am, I'm afraid I have to highly advise against that. I haven't had my team do a run down of the risks, is there any chance of postponing it?" 

"Not a chance," she chirps brightly, spinning on her heel and heading for the door. "I'm going to go downstairs into a car, and then into a plane." 

She only makes it halfway down the hallway before she hears Jughead cursing under his breath and following her. She smiles to herself, and slows down enough for him to reach her side. He's tapping something inside his ear and Betty makes out the skin coloured wire. "I need a fresh suit and two of my guys." He demands quickly; one hand hovering on the small of Betty's back. She's not sure that he even knows it's there. "Get Fangs and Sweet Pea. I don't care what they're doing," he snaps, "I want them at Johnson Airport five minutes ago, okay? We have White Swan about to do a speech with zero security. Try to have as many as you can based in Chicago when we land. You owe me, Peters." He adds in a growl, and Betty shivers with attraction. 

"White Swan, huh?" She quotes, and he shoots her a quick side-glance as they descend. "That my code name?" 

He nods, still brushing the sleep out of his eyes. "Yes, Ma'am. We can change it if you want." 

"No, no," she beams, rocking on her heels as the elevator takes them down. "I like it. What's Tom's?" 

Jughead looks uncomfortable for some reason. "The President's code name has always been White House, Ma'am." He says, shuffling a little. 

Betty frowns. "Wait, if it's  _always_ White House, does that mean the Vice President automatically has a code name?" 

Jughead nods. "Eagle was standard procedure, Ma'am." 

She frowns further; displeased. "So because I'm the first female vice president, I don't get to be called Eagle? I'm White Swan? Who decided that? That's inherent sexism and it won't stand!" She cuts herself off when she sees the red on Jughead's cheeks. She's never seen him blush. Not  _ever._ But now there's a dark rouge staining his cheeks. He clears his throat; looking vulnerable without his suit and badge; with his wavy hair and sleepy eyes. 

"I'm afraid that was my call, Ma'am," he says quietly, trying to keep his voice level. "I requested the change, but not because of your gender though I can understand why you thought that. I suggested the code name change because I thought..." he takes a deep breath, before continuing in a rush. "I thought you were very elegant. But your code name  _was_ originally Eagle, Archie can attest to that if you're worried. I can change it back before the day it out, Ma'am." 

Oh.  _Oh._ She can feel a rush of pleasure tingling through her as the silver doors part and they walk out. A few people give Jughead an odd look for not being in a suit but no one says anything. "It's okay," she whispers, not trusting her own voice. "White Swan is nice. I like it." 

He ducks his head, hardly able to make eye contact. "It suits you," he says, as they head out into the cold day and down towards the car. "Graceful. Beautiful." 

Betty doesn't even have time to process  _that_ before Veronica is giving her a list of information as long as her arm and they're all bundling into the car. She tries to take it all in on the drive to the airport, but she's distracted by the way Jughead's pressed against her in the back. He looks irritated to not be the one driving, and she can feel the warmth off his body against her side. 

She likes it. 

Soon the rush is over, and they're in the air. 

The private jet is large and well furnished, and she sits with Toni and Veronica as they go over the finer points of her speech. She'd seen Jughead meet with two of his men before they'd boarded; broad, muscled guys with badges and guns, but thankfully no sunglasses. 

After a while, she gets up and decides to stretch her legs a little, sipping some water to prevent her throat from going hoarse for the speech. She walks down into the backer part of the plane and sees Jughead standing in the small bathroom. He's got the door open to let in as much light as possible, and he's in a sleek black suit. His tie is skinny and done in a perfect knot and the crisp white shirt brings out the olive of his skin. It's a lovely, familiar sight. 

What's rarer, is his hair. She loves how it looks like this. She wishes it always looked like this. All wavy and thick and soft looking. 

So she nearly yelps when he brings the electric razor to his scalp, and she darts over to him, yanking it out of his hand in horror. He looks down at her in surprise. "What do you think you're doing?" She cries, pulling it from the socket too, just to be sure. His lips do that small uptick of amusement, and he looks down at her. 

"I'm shaving my head, Ma'am." He informs her, "or at least, I was about to." 

She shakes her head in dismay. "No way. No way you are not doing that. Why would you want to do that?" 

"I didn't have time to gel it back," he says slowly, as if she's a little bit dim. "If I leave it like this it inhibits me. Poor visibility would create a risk in my ability to protect you. Cutting it is the easiest thing to do." 

Betty tosses the razor into the sink with a clatter and shoves Jughead until he's sitting down on the toilet lid, and she stands between his legs. He's letting her manoeuvre him like a puppet because she's certain she would never be able to take him in real life. He looks up at her with his wide green eyes, and she can smell his laundry detergent. "That is not the easiest thing to do," she scolds, reaching a hand into her own hair and sliding out two bobby pins. She runs her fingers through his hair; holding the clips between her teeth. His locks are just as soft as she imagined and he makes a deep noise in his throat as she drags her nails through it. She sweeps it back and slides in the grips before stepping back to examine her handiwork. He looks good. "There," she beams, and he stands up slowly, his eyes on her lips. "I think your hair's great," she says says, for lack of anything else, and he smiles up at her. "But...why do you keep it so long?" She should probably go back to Veronica and Toni now. She shouldn't be standing here in an open bathroom with her bodyguard, standing so close they might as well be pressed together. 

He swallows thickly. "My uh...my sister, my little sister, she likes to practice braiding," he manages, "so I like to keep it longer for her." 

It's the first real thing he's ever said about himself, and she loves him more than she thought she would. "Juggie, I..." she whispers, as she realises he's bowing his head and leaning down towards her. One of his hands, his heavy, steady hands, is on her waist. But his touch is so gentle. He's waiting for her to push him way. 

"Betty," he whispers, her name a caress on his tongue. His cool breath fans over her face and she resists the urge to tiptoe to press their lips together. It turns out she doesn't have to, because he leans down and presses their lips together firmly. She gasps in surprise, a live current running between them as he coaxes her lips open. She moans quietly into his mouth, her hands winding around his neck. She doesn't touch his hair, even though she wants too, afraid to ruin her work. As her nails run along his skin, he becomes more ravenous. He pulls away; pupils blown with lust. "Hold on," he orders breathlessly, and she doesn't understand at first, but then she does, and she clutches his shoulders as he slams the door shut behind her and latches it. And then his hands are on her dress; tugging it up higher till it rucks around her hips and he's hoisting her shaking thighs around himself and backing her into the door. 

He carries her like she weighs nothing and she cries out in pleasure as she feels him press against her through his pants and her underwear. His lips are on her again; down her jaw and her throat; a wet trail of want and fire as their hips grind together. She doesn't know how this is happening so quickly but it's suddenly very clear that her attraction to him all this time hasn't been as one-sided as she thought. There's tension between them; a constantly fraying wire that's suddenly snapped. 

The plane jerks violently and they both freeze in place. 

They jump at the knock on the door. It's Toni's voice. "Betty, are you okay in there?" 

She swallows, Jughead's erection still pressed against her core. "I'm fine, Toni! Be out in a sec." She waits until she hears her friends footsteps recede, and then they carefully pull apart from each other. Jughead's panting, smudges of lipstick across his mouth. He sits on the toilet, trying to regain his breath and she breathes hard. He looks up at her, eyes still dark. "Fuck," he hisses in a voice that makes her warm all over. "You look amazing." 

She glances in the mirror. He lipstick is smudged and her lips are all raw and bitten. Her cheeks are flushed red and her dress is still bunched around her waist. She looks excited and bright eyed the way she does after a few too many drinks. She carefully readjusts her dress, smoothing down any creases and reaching for some tissue paper. She works slowly and methodically, her blush dying down and her mouth looking less like it was recently lavished. A fresh coat of lipstick should do it. She'll do that just before they disembark. 

Jughead's wiped his own mouth with some tissue paper, and he's obviously trying to clam himself down. 

The things she wants to do to him. The things she wants him to do to her. What she would have  _let_ him do right here on a plane. It's so dangerous. "Jughead," she whispers, "this can't happen again. Not like this, okay?" 

He nods, stoic demeanour sliding into place. "Of course, Ma'am." He agrees stiffly. "Please forgive me." 

* * *

Time goes by and they don't talk about it. 

Betty wants to bring it up but she's not sure how, and Jughead's acting like nothing's ever happened. Nothing. Even though she thinks about the way he'd said her name in bed at night, and she can still feel his hands on her thighs. He's been standing guard outside, no matter the early snow and the ever-freezing weather. He doesn't make eye contact with her anymore, unless he has to. He doesn't speak unless she asks him something directly, which isn't too different from before, but she misses his ever so quiet snide remarks about her running mates from time to time. She misses the slightly judgemental tone he'd use when he'd call to inform her she had a visitor. She misses the way he'd roll his eyes at one of her questions whenever he thought she couldn't see. Like he was exasperated but fond all at the same time. 

Toni obviously picks up on something, but wisely doesn't say anything about it. Betty's grateful. 

But, he's still her personal detail. He's still the person she trusts to keep her safe, so when the time comes to visit the Russian Premier, she lingers in the back of the car as he stands, holding the door open for her. "Juggie," she says, and he stiffens minutely at the nickname, but obligingly turns to look down at her. The wind is brutal and he looks so cold. "I'm going to see the Russian Premier tomorrow. It's a very intimate meeting. I know it's typically the role of the most senior professional duty, but I really would feel more comfortable with you."

He nods once. "If that what you want, Ma'am, I'll have it arranged." 

She sighs. "You don't have too, if you don't want." She gets out of the car, and her foot catches on a piece of ice. 

He catches her before she can break her nose. His arms cradling and soft around her as he rights her. "Are you aright, Ma'am?" He asks quietly, the concern thick in his voice. She nods as she regains her footing, but appreciates the way he hovers behind her as she heads to the front steps. "I'm happy to escort you tomorrow, Ma'am. It would be a pleasure." 

She nods, but refuses to look at him. Her skin burns with his touch. She's never  _wanted_ so much. "Would you like to stand guard inside tonight, Jughead? It's going to be cold."

He pauses, eyes sliding away form her. "Ma'am, I'm...not sure." He says eventually, which is better than the outright rejection she was expecting. "I-"

"Won't take no for an answer," Betty insists warmly, and Jughead huffs, something small and fond. It's a laugh, almost, and the nicest thing Betty has heard since the plane incident. 

In the end, she makes him tea and sits on the sofa whilst he sits by the window. They don't talk for a long while, just sit in peace and drink, before she decides to break the ice. "Do you get involved in politics, Jughead?" She asks, feet tucked under herself. Her fireplace is crackling heartily, and keeps the shadows at bay, suffusing them both in a warm amber glow. He turns to look at her, his face lit with the white light from the window. His hair is slicked back, and she's suppressing yawns but he looks wide awake. 

"Not really," he says, wrapping his hands around the warm mug that she suspects he's finished. He won't ask for more though, even though she'd be happy to do it and he probably wants it. "But I agree with everything you say." 

She rolls her eyes but laughs; pleased. "Is that just you being an excellent employee?" 

He smiles- a flash of white teeth, before it's gone. "Not at all. I just...I agree with you. You have integrity and I think a lot of people respond to that. I'm happy to vote for you." He waits a beat, before adding, "Ma'am," 

Her heart beat quickens in her breast. "Tell me about your service duty? How did you end up here?" 

He rubs the back of his neck in an uncharacteristically nervous gesture. "We didn't have a lot of money growing up so I enlisted when I was sixteen. My dad used to write me letters begging me to come home, but I think..." he pursed his lips thoughtfully, "I think my leaving was the best thing I could have done. It pulled him out of a bad place. I served for a long time, and then came home when I was twenty-six because my mom passed away. I didn't know it at the time, but she'd had a daughter. I had a sister. It's why I came back. For Jellybean. She's only eight. I wanted full custody, obviously, I didn't want her to go to anyone else. I barely knew her but I loved her instantly, you know?" His voice is warm and syrupy with memories. "I was her guardian for a while, the government was happy to pay me for my service, but after a while the money runs out. I needed a job. My dad moved in with me, he takes care of Jellybean now. Archie came to me for this job, and it pays well. It's what I'm good at." He takes a breath, as if he can't believe he said so much. She expects him to tack on a 'Ma'am' but he doesn't, he looks at Betty then, really  _looks_ at her. "What about you?" 

On paper, her life is run of the mill fantastic. It made her a prime applicant for politics, really. No underhanded dealings, no seedy underbelly of a distant life. She was cornfed, ivy league trained, with parents who didn't divorce and an elder sister who ran a charity. She didn't have a spot on her record. But that wasn't her story. "My mom can be...difficult. Overbearing," she says carefully, wary that even now she probably shouldn't be talking about it. "She exerted a lot of pressure onto me, I was nearly always buckling under it. I felt like I would crumple under the weight of it all. I could hardly cope. It's a wonder I didn't develop a dangerous coping mechanism." Her voice is shaking. This is the first time she's said any of it aloud. Jughead moves from the window sill to sit beside her on the couch. He places a careful hand on her arm. Comforting. "Even now, I don't think I'm enough. But I don't think President would be enough. Nothing would be enough." She's trembling, and Jughead holds her tighter so that she doesn't shatter into pieces. 

"Is that something you've thought about?" He asks quietly, and she's not sure what he means for a moment before he elucidates. "The Presidency?" 

She shrugs. "I don't know. Not really? I mean, I know it's a possibility, I know that I'm popular, but I'm not ambitious like that. I want things to change, and I don't really care where I am as long as it gets done." 

He hums thoughtfully. "For what it's worth, Betty, I think you'd make an amazing President." 

She briefly, ludicrously, wonders what Jughead might be like as a First Gentlemen. Dressed in sharp, fashionable suits, always standing behind her, supportive and nodding, smiling and cheering when the poll results comes in. She imagines watching the live results with him. She imagines black tie events in formal wear, and the way they'd look side by side. She imagines her hand on her chest, and a diamond ring on her finger. She imagines lying, stretched out and blissful in the bed in the White House, with their clothes strewn all over the floor. Instead, she ducks her head and smiles shyly. "Thank you. Jughead...about...what happened, are we...what are we going to do about it? I don't want us to pretend like it never happened." 

He stiffens, but doesn't retreat like she fears. "It's not appropriate, like you said," he answers honestly, "not with our current positions. I would have to resign, and then we'd have to keep it quiet for a few years, at least. And I..."

She understands. "You don't want to offer up your resignation for such a good job on the basis of a few dates," 

He holds her hands in his. They're large and calloused and capable. "It's not that I don't think you're worth the risk, Betty," he says sincerely. His eyes blaze green. "I do. If any woman in the world is, it's you. But I'm...protective," he settles on, grimacing at the word choice even as it makes her laugh. "I don't think I entrust letting you into anyone else's hands just yet. I don't know how I'd feel about not having this badge and wearing this gun. If I was your... _boyfriend,_ I wouldn't be your security detail. I wouldn't be as equipped to protect you." 

"Maybe not physically," she agrees, a little amused by his dedication to her well-being. "But you'd be offering me support in a way you can't now. You'd make me happy." 

He leans down and presses his forehead to her shoulder. She leans her cheek atop his hair. "I need more time." 

"I understand." 

* * *

 

Russian Political buildings are grand, unusually decorated places. There's a lot of heavy oak and vibrant paintings of historical events that Betty can't quite place even though she's studied a lot of history in her time. 

She's been given a small office to work in before the Premier gets here. There's been some sort of disturbance in the capital that's delaying him, but everyone had been profusely apologetic and Betty hadn't really minded. It doesn't feel very much like a power play. Even if it was, it would be more effective against Tom than her. When her phone rings and the little crown emoji shimmers on her screen, she smiles before she can process it, and answers happily, doodling on the edges of the contract and adding some bird food for the American Eagle. "Hey," she says brightly into the receiver. "What are you still doing downstairs? I saw at least fifty armed guards. Come and keep me company." 

There's a huff and a chuckle, that he quickly tries to temper.  _"Ma'am, it's protocol that I wait here for the Premier to arrive so I can escort him to come and meet you. Would you like me to waive protocol?"_ There's amusement in his voice, and she knows that people are probably listening to him talk. 

"Yes, screw protocol. I might die of boredom, and how would it look then?" 

" _Unbelievable."_ He mutters, sounding a little bit in love. It makes Betty fall harder.  _"I'll be with you shortly, Ma'am."_

She'd believe all his shtick about protocol, if not for the fact that he called her first, and for no apparent reason at that. Soon enough, there's a firm, but short knock at the door. She calls him in and relaxes just at the sight of him. He's wrapped up in a coat now, it seems that even Jughead can't withstand the cruel Russian winters. It's a thick wool that settles over the lines of his suit. The tips of his ears are a little red, but his eyes are sparkly. She gestures to the seat opposite her, and he smiles with all his teeth like he's happy just to be around her. "How do you like Russia? Have you ever been here before?" 

"Never," he says, easing himself into the chair, but not before moving it slightly so his back isn't directly to the door. "I've been to Korea, Australia, Japan and a few other places, but not Russia." She reaches into her purse for a lemon sucker and offers him the packet. He narrows his eyes at her like he thinks she's a child, but then reaches over and takes one anyway. He sucks on it contemplatively. "Hypothetically speaking," he begins, rolling the sweet around his teeth so it clacks noisily. She takes one for herself and folds the wrapping neatly between her fingers. "How committed are you to politics? Would you, for instance, be interested in buying a motorhome and driving around with an eight year old girl?"

She snorts, leaning back in her chair and tempted to kick her feet up but not wanting the Russians to get the wrong idea. "Hmm," she hums, thinking about it. "If we change the motorhome for a log cabin in Switzerland, I could be game." 

He nods like that was obvious. "We'd need room for a curmudgeonly grandfather." 

"And a guest bedroom for a fond Aunt and her two kids." 

He quirks an eyebrow and Betty sighs. 

"Politics isn't my passion or anything, making a difference is. But I know I can make a better one if I stay where I am. I don't know how effective I'll be without a platform." 

He nods, like he expected nothing less, when his phone buzzes. He checks it and instantly loses all sense of casualness that he's picked up in the room with her. He's out of his seat, tucking it back in, and crunching on the sweet till it dissolves to nothing in his mouth. He straightens his suit and coat, and heads for the door, one finger already flying to his ear piece. "The Premier's just arrived, White Swan is receptive. Primary Security coming down now." He turns to nod at Betty, all respectful and professional. Not at all like just a few moments ago when he was trying to convince her to run away with him. "I'll be back shortly, Ma'am." And he's gone. 

It's like he was never in the room. Betty shuffles some papers and gets herself ready. 

When the door opens, Jughead nearly blends into the heavy wood. But that's what good details do. They fade away. Vladimir walks right past him, and Betty goes to greet him with a wide smile. "Premier for you, Ma'am," Jughead says quietly, before closing the door and disappearing. To Vladimir, he was no one, but to Betty...he's a lot more. 

"It's a pleasure to meet you," she says, with her game-face on. 

Vladimir, slightly older and rougher around the edges, nods, pleased. "The pleasure is mine, Madam Vice President." 

They walk through a few of the bills and proposals that Tom had suggested. They work well for about an hour. He's a lot more amiable than Betty had thought, and a lot less territorial than her specialists had predicted he would be. But there's something unnerving about him. Something that makes Betty's skin prickle in the wrong way, and she kind of wishes Toni was here. Toni's good at sensing the differing vibes coming from people, good at pegging when there's a bad egg. But Toni's in Washington, probably trying to make things work with the spoilt heiress that Betty hopes to someday meet, because no one's ever gotten Toni so riled up. 

An hour is enough time for the smidgeon of sun that could get in through the frosty window to practically disappear. The only light now left is the desk lamp. Betty wants to stand up and turn on the light, but she doesn't want what happened when she reached for a book to happen again. The crawling feeling of knowing that Vladimir's eyes were on her breasts. It's not like she's wearing anything revealing, not that it would be an excuse, but there's a certain leer to his gaze that made her uncomfortable. So they continue to work in the dark, straining under the feeble light of the presumably energy-saving bulb. 

Their hands bump once across the table, and Betty mutters an apology, but then their hands bump again, and then his hand is on top of hers; pinning it to a contract about land law. She stiffens, and looks up at him. He looks like a predator. "Enough of work," he says, in his thick Russian accent. "It is a custom in my family, that whenever something good has been achieved, we must celebrate it," he points to the bourbon on one of the shelves in the bookcase. He wants Betty to stand up and get it. 

She doesn't move. Instead, she smiles tightly, politely, and tries not to make a scene. "Well, in my family, we don't celebrate anything until all the work is done." 

He keeps staring at her. The hairs on the back of her neck stand up. "It is hot in here, isn't it?" He says, which is a lie because if anything, the whole place is too cold. He tugs off his suit blazer, and Betty stands up because she can't bear to look at him. He beams at her. "I thought you'd change your mind. There are glasses just behind the bottle-"

"Agent Jones!" She calls, almost a yell, but her voice doesn't waver. 

The door opens immediately, and Jughead slips in. His hands are crossed before him, and he looks every bit the dedicated, intelligent, body guard that she knows he is. She instantly feels safer with him in the room. "Ma'am?" He asks, his eyes flickering between where Betty's standing and Vladimir is now lounging sprawled in the chair. "Is everything alright?" 

"I'd like to leave." She whispers, "can we leave?" 

Jughead frowns, but nods. "Yes, Ma'am, I can have the cars ready-" he steps back as though he's about to leave the room and her heart leaps into her throat. He sees it. And instead, steps forward. "-in ten minutes. I'll call them now." He takes his phone out of his pocket and presses a button. His earpiece glows blue. She's never been so grateful to have him around. She'll never say another bad word about bodyguards, she'll never complain about security. Nothing, nothing is like the visceral relief of feeling safe and she'll never begrudge it again. 

Vladimir laughs, shaking his head and getting to his feet. "Now, now, let us not be so hasty!" He calls jovially, "we were having a good time, weren't we, Elizabeth? You may leave us, Agent, we were just going to have some bourbon." He starts walking towards Betty, but quick as a flash, Jughead is there in front of her. She peeks out from behind his back, awed at his bravery. 

"Sir," Jughead says, his voice cold with an edge of steel that Betty's never heard before. He sounds like he could kill Vladimir and never think about it again. She wonders if he has killed people before. She wonders if he can compartmentalise so well that he would be brilliantly effective. "The Vice President would like to leave now." He grits out, sounding every bit like he  _wants_ Vladimir to test his resolve. Like he wants a fight to start because he's just looking for a reason to hurt him. 

Vladimir scoffs. "You're talking for her are you? Doesn't surprise me. Women don't know what they want. Especially ones like her. She's too pretty to be in the White House. Not with assets like that if you know what I-"

Betty gasps as Jughead rears his elbow back and punches Vladimir right in the face. The older man crumples to the ground with a sickening crack and a lot of blood. Jughead, on his part, barely blinks, before he's turning around and looking at Betty. "The car's waiting for you downstairs, Ma'am." His voice is so soft when he addresses her. And he's escorting her to the door. She looks over her shoulder to see Vladimir clutching his nose in pain, and she's not sure what's going to happen. 

* * *

What happens, as it turns out, is a word that she hates. 

Protocol. 

She watches Jughead. He's beautiful. His hair is floppy and wavy with that one lock trickling down his forehead like a sliver of the night sky. His skin is pale, ashen-like, and his green eyes stare resolutely into the face of his commanding officer. He won't look away. Even under the spittle and disappointment that General McCoy is spewing down at him. "You are a reflection of us, son, and when you behave in the way that you have, not only have you let down a nation and a country united under god, but you have also let down your family. Your badge and gun." 

Jughead doesn't hand them over. The General takes them from him. And it's like he's pulling out Jughead's heart when he yanks the badge from his lapel. Betty can't bear it. She knows there's been some negative press about this, but it's not unbeatable. A lot of people don't know the full story, they just know that a member of her security team went straight to violence, apparently unprompted. She wants to make a statement in support of him, but all her press officers have advised her against this. "Am I suspended, Sir?" Jughead asks, voice infuriatingly even. 

"Effective immediately." McCoy says, but something in his eyes softens. He lowers his head and whispers so quietly Betty almost doesn't hear through the open window. "I understand why you did what you did, son. A lesser man wouldn't have had the control you did. But there are protocols for these things. You understand." It's not a question. 

Jughead nods, a resigned look on his face and Betty's heart breaks. She knows Jughead loves his job. It's being taken away from him and it's all because of some pervert on the other side of the world. "Thank you for the opportunity." He says. 

Betty turns from the window to Tom with tears in her eyes, and Tom doesn't know how to react in the face of her emotion. "Tom," she begins beseechingly, "you have to pardon him. He was just trying to protect me, it's all so absurd!" 

Tom scrunches up his face and begins pacing. "I get it, Betty, really I do. Vladimir's a royal dick. But your boyfriend nearly starts an international incident during my term! If the General wants to strip him of his badge and gun, then I don't want to go against it publicly! It'll look like a stand against the forces. Voters won't like it. It's nothing against you, Betty, you get that, right?" 

"He's not my boyfriend," she sighs miserably, sitting on the sofa. Tom sits opposite her, across the low lying coffee table, looking troubled. "He was there to protect me, Tom. Would you have done anything different for Louise?"

Tom laughs quietly. "You say he's not your boyfriend, but you're asking me to think of my wife, Betty." He points out. 

There's a knock on the door and Reggie steps in. He's wearing the douchey sunglasses that Betty hates, and he looks like he's made of chiselled tan marble. "Jones to see you, Mr President. Should I send him on his way?" Betty resists the urge to sneer. She hates anyone talking about Jughead like that. Like he's someone to just  _send on his way._ He's done so much to protect her, to protect the country, he's so dedicated and he's being discarded because of something like this. 

Tom doesn't answer for a long moment, before he shakes his head. "No Reggie, send him in." Reggie nods and disappears, just before Jughead steps into the room. He has his head bowed respectfully, and he doesn't look at Betty even though she rises to her feet the second she sees him. "Mr Jones," Tom greets kindly, and Betty wonders if it's a slap in the face not to hear the word  _Agent_ before his name. "I know it's been trying, but I wanted to thank you personally for keeping my VP safe. She's invaluable to the country." 

"Thank you, Mr President," Jughead murmurs. "I just came to say goodbye, and that it's been an honour to work here." Then he turns to Betty, and he doesn't look as sad as she worried he might. "And I'd like to say that to you especially, Ma'am. You were an honour to serve." His voice is thick with feeling, and she understands the words for what they are. A declaration. "I'm sorry my conduct resulted in such a poor departure." 

"Oh, now hold on," Tom sighs, pinching the bridge of his nose. "Jones, you're a good guy, and god knows I haven't done a lot of good things for the average guy. But I know a little about you. I get briefed on your file, you know," 

Jughead looks a little bit irritated. "By Reggie?" He asks, and Betty resists the urge to smile. Are there secret service agent riffs behind the scenes? Bodyguards who hate each other in private? It's a whole world she isn't privy to.  

Tom doesn't see it. "Yes, and by the secret service. You're a good guy, is what I'm saying. It would be an honour for me to pardon you. Get you reinstated. Now, don't get too excited, you couldn't work here for us, that'd be too much scandal, but I'd be happy to write you a letter of recommendation myself. That should get you pretty much any job at any time, and we're happy to give you a severance payment as well." 

Betty knows Tom's a bit of a dick, but she does love him a little bit too. 

* * *

Betty kicks her leg out but Jughead, as he's been doing for the past twenty minutes, ducks it perfectly. He moves so gracefully, elegantly, like an angel fish in a still current. He moves in perfect, intricate movements that would seem so slow but are actually performed in lightning speed. 

She pants, her muscles aching. She's getting better at their training sessions, but she's still not at the level of self-defence that she wants to be. She's not the only one with some work to do, though. Jughead has to keep being reminded not to harass the security staff. He has to come to accept that he has a detail now too. A very chiselled guy named Moose who Jughead has tried to evade time and time again to no avail. Betty likes to tease him about it. He finally knows how it feels to be on the other side of things. 

Jughead, barely affected by their sparring, winks at her. He's so in shape she aches with envy and admiration. "Come on, Madame President. Are you even trying?" He grins. 

She gets a good kick into his stomach in retaliation, but she's fairly certain he's just pretended to go down. Jellybean whoops from the bed, fiddling on her phone. "Am I allowed to post on instagram that you just kicked Jug right in the stomach?" She asks eagerly, fingers moving a mile a minute on her phone. Betty watches as Jughead gets up, not looking particularly winded. Yup, he was definitely faking. It's a shame. She'd thought it was quite a good kick. 

Betty laughs, screaming as Jughead tackles her to the ground and kisses her neck. "Better not, sweetheart!" She calls as they jostle.

Jellybean sighs the sigh of the long-wearied soldier. "But it looks so cool when I set location as the White House. All my friends are jealous!" She tries pleadingly. 

Jughead nods approvingly, lifting Betting into the air and tossing her onto the bed beside Jellybean. Betty bounces at on the expensive springs. Jughead turns to his sister eagerly. "Come on, JB, you're up. Ready for some self-defence training?" He waggles his eyebrows and Jellybean hides behind Betty, who's sweaty and tired.

"No, Betty's the one who wants to defend herself, I'm fine having you do it."  She declares, rolling up in the sheets without a care in the world. Jughead rolls his eyes at both of them, like they're weak and he's tough, and it's enough to have Betty dragging herself out of bed for another round. He gets into the stance eagerly, cocking his head. 

"Show me what you got," he teases, and yelps as she pins him to the make-shift mat in one smooth move. The wind is knocked out of him and he stares at her; impressed. "Alright, but you got that move from me, Jones."  

When she's above him, she kisses his forehead and tweaks his nose. "That's Agent Jones, to you," she says, before tickling his ribcage. 

Their newest bodyguard stands outside, and listens to the cacophony of laughter and screeching. 

He isn't sure what to make of any of it. 

**Author's Note:**

> This was super fun to write and I hope you enjoyed it! Minutely inspired by re-watching some old House of Cards episodes, but I am not American and know pretty much nothing about anything, so don't be mad. 
> 
> I would love comments/prompts and anything else 
> 
> mwah lovelies 
> 
> xx


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